“Eat something.” Werri held the bowl of soup before her face. It smelled sweet, but her stomach lacked room for even air. She ignored him and fixed her eyes on the enormous statue before her. Apparently, an army of Tivelo’s priests, working together, could build a statue in hours. The likeness was striking. It even wore the same formless dress that she had on.

“I’m like Garo.” She laughed. “There’s a giant statue of me.”

Werri screwed up his face. He put the bowl before her feet and sat in the dirt before her. “You made a poor choice. Tivelo has never been gentle, but Achi works well as his conscience. In hurting him, you hurt all of us.”

“What is today’s date?”

He frowned at diversion. “In the middle upper realm, it is currently the thirteenth of Rawi.”

Aria counted the days on her fingers. “So, Achi dies in twenty-six days. What a pity. You could all be finding his real murderer.”

Werri beat his lips. “Achi will help you. If he wakes. If he is strong enough.”

Aria nodded “If his father lets him. Who knows, by then, I might not be insane from being repeatedly burned alive.”

Werri kept silent. He had his eyes fixed on a man approaching them from the bottom of their hilly perch. The man caught Werri’s eyes, stopped, and waved.

Werri rose. “They’re ready for you. Close your eyes.”

She did not. She did not attempt to run, either. Werri waved a hand and she felt a wave of coolness wash over her. Then, he motioned for her to stand.

She ignored the request. “What was that?”

“Immortality spell.” His voice was small. “So you won’t die. You won’t feel hungry either.”

“Praise the Lord of the Sky.”

“Stand.”

She remained sitting. With little effort, he pulled her up and began dragging her down to the port.

The day was too pleasant for such misery. The air was cool. The setting sun seemed to light the ocean on fire and ships sailed slowly in the distance, ignorant of her plight. Down, at their destination, workers, priests, and attendants stood on a stone base around her monumental feet. They had watched her approach with fascination and disdain on their faces.

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Werri released her for a moment and, before she could take another step, she was floating. The ground fell away rapidly, taking her stomach with it. Below her, for a few seconds, she could see Werri. His arms were outstretched as he executed the magic. His expression was grim and resigned.

Then, she was floating through the statue’s eye and onto a cushioned seat. It was so nice of them to consider her comfort. Her arms touched the armrests and froze into the place. Her legs settled into position slightly apart. Her head could still move, but it was the only body part with that freedom.

A minute later, two glass circles sank into the eye holes. No rain would make it into her tiny home. It was too dark to see her body, but she had a spectacular view of the sea, the sunset, and the horizon.

Time seemed to slow after that. The silence was terrifying. She had left every bit of noise down at the bottom of the statue. The waiting was dreadful, and was made even more dreadful by the worry that it would end. She prayed, not to Evera - what good would that do - but to Achi. She prayed that he would wake, that he would recover, that he would somehow make this wait last forever.

And the longer it lasted, the more hopeful she grew that it would continue. The more hopeful and the more terrified, so that at every moment, she could almost see the flames rising from the ground and swallowing her.

She felt them before she saw them. Her feet began to grow warm, pleasantly at first, and then, faster than she had expected, it became uncomfortable. She squirmed and attempted to pick up her feet, but that came to nothing.

Terror and pain mingled in her as the heat grew; disbelief, because it could not possibly be real. She, Aria, daughter of Chiri and Rokato, who had climbed from a terrified child to the middle realm, could end this way. It was a terrible dream, a nightmare because she had been unkind one too many times. She would wake.

But no matter how she prayed and cried and struggled, how she bit her lips and tongue and struggled with all her might, she did not wake. The nightmare did not end.

The fire soon arrived. When it did, it cured her of her delusions. This was no dream. This was real. This could happen to a girl like her. It could happen even to the innocent. But was she innocent? She could not be, of course. Who had ever heard of the most powerful deity in existence punishing an innocent girl? If she was innocent, this would not have happened.

The pain stopped. It must have taken minutes, though every moment had felt endless. The fire - she could see it as an actual cloud of flames - was now above her head and still moving up. She could feel the heat, but the flames no longer covered her. She wept in relief and terror and prayed - to Garo, to Evera, to Achi - that it would never come again.

It did. Again, and again, and again.

She kept count at first. It was easy. But, eventually, she could not remember if the last count had been five or six. She decided that it had been five, though why it mattered she could not say. She continued her count until she reached eight. Then, she fell asleep and was painfully awoken by the flames, and the numbers ceased to matter.

She felt the flames coming again. Hidden as she was, there was no one to see her tears, so she felt no shame about them. And as tired as she was, fear still made her muscles tremble.

The fire reached her as usual. But this time, at the first touch of the pain, the world dissolved into darkness.